Scandalous

One wintery morning in 1975, Arie Broer left his home early, as usual. A healthy seventy-year-old, he scoffed at the idea of having his morning paper delivered. “Nonsense” he’d say. “I need to have my morning walk.” In his haste to return home and make tea for his beloved wife, he slipped, hit his head and broke a leg.

Forty years earlier.

Cornelia, Nels to her family, Miss van Houwelingen to her students and colleagues, was a spinster. She had been quite contented as a language teacher for grades seven and eight. Nothing too taxing, she didn’t expect her students to be introspective over poetry or look for symbolism and deeper meaning in prose. No, her task was to teach the finer points of grammar, spelling, composition, and style. She also had the unenviable task of grading 50 creative writing essays each week..

She had resigned herself to remain unmarried. Female teachers did not marry, and if they did, they would not teach anymore. She had a few sniffs, but no offers had been made. Her older sister, Gertrude, had married and married well. Dirk was a city official. The fact that he worked for a tiny town, and was the secretary, was not discussed. Trui’s three children had all been Nels’s students. Yes, she had been extra hard on them. No one would accuse of favoritism.

“Good morning Miss van Houweling, how are you today? Ach, your smile makes my Monday and the rest of the week bloom. Speaking of which.” Arie Broer, eighth and nineth grade science teacher whipped a small bouquet of carnations from behind his back.

“Oh, my!” Nels clasps her hands together in prayer and presses them under her chin. “For me? Truly, Mr. Broer you spoil me. All the other spinster teachers will become jealous.” She tittered. Then she sobered. “They will start talking. We can’t have that, Mr. Broer. We could both lose our jobs.”

Her apple cheeks reddened. The fetching blush spread over her face and disappeared below the high color of her dove grey dress. Even after twenty years, she and her younger sister Hennie were still dressed in half mourning after their mother’s passing. Trui had never given up the black of full mourning. And was not opposed to raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips in disapproval of any frivolity on her sister’s part.

Arie stared at Nels, wishing he could touch her, feel the heat of her flushed skin, hold her hand and yes, more. Her petite, full figured hourglass body was just begging to be explored. He was determined that it would be him who did the exploring. But so far, he had not merited more than a daily blush. Any overtured he had made had been rebuffed.

Students started to file into Nels’s classroom. “Thank you for the lovely flowers, Mr. Broer. I shall go put them in water.”

As she walked to the teacher’s lounge to find a vase, she had a stern talk with herself, again. She just should not encourage Mr. Broer any further. Should not accept his flowers, or chat in the hallways. Yes, he was a charming man, Had a lovely sense of humor, was artistic too. But, for crying aloud, he was fifteen years her junior! At forty-five she was just too old to be courted. Especially with one so much younger than herself. What would people say? What would her sister Trui say?

But Mr. Broer was not easily deterred or rebuffed. He upped the ante and finally managed to get himself invited to Sunday dinner. He charmed both Trui and Hennie by giving each a small painting of a vase of flowers. When Nels pointed out to her sisters that Mr. Broer had made the paintings himself, his stock rose by five points.

Nels’s nieces and nephew were not present at this auspicious dinner, but they knew Mr. Broer. Having suffered through two years of his science classes. Though truth be told he was one of the more popular instructors. At the oddest moments he’d manage to do a small sleight of hand, enchanting the class and ensuring their attention. But teaching was not his passion. His passion was Nels. To win her sisters to his side he had to pulled out all the stops. He did the unimaginable and made Trui smile. Of course, she shook her head in disbelief at this forward, outspoken young man, but smile she did.

This was just the first of many Sunday dinners. Once they started their summer break, both teachers, like so many others before and since, supplemented their income with tutoring. They managed to coordinate their schedules and carve out time when they could slip away from prying eyes. A picnic here, a trip to the capital to see parliament there, an excursion to see the magnificent Rotterdam Harbor or traipse over polders and inspect windmills.

“Marry me.” Was his refrain. “Let us be together, Nels,”

“But what will people say?” was her fearful, stubborn answer.

Arie always had his sketch pads and pencil box with him. He sketched many portraits of Nels, but she forbade him to show anyone.

“Marry me, Nelse.” He’d implore. Make me the happiest man in the country.”

She’d laugh and blush. “It’s not a very large country, is it now?”

“Even so.” He’d plead.

“But what would people say?” was the old refrain.

No matter how careful they were, no matter how circumspect, word got out. Nels was called into the Principal’s office in late August.

“We cannot have a teacher, a female teacher, conduct herself immorally. You have given many years to the school system, but the board feels the need to remove you from this potentially volatile situation. There is an opening for a cooking instructor at the Home Economics School. There will be a slight adjustment in pay, of course.”

She did not cry when she left the principal’s office. She did not cry on the tram home. She did not cry when she walked the last four blocks. She did not cry during tea. No, she waited until she was in her room, then she cried, softly so as not to disturb Hennie and her father. She cried because she wouldn’t be teaching language and creative writing anymore. Lord, she knew nothing about cooking! She cried because she wouldn’t be able to contribute as much to the household anymore. But she really cried because she wouldn’t see Arie anymore.

The next day, Wednesday, the last Wednesday before school would start again, was their regular outing. Nels was subdued, kept her eyes averted, barely smiled at his jokes and puns.

“What is the matter, Nels? Please tell me what I did wrong. I’ll move the earth to make it right again. Please tell me.” They were sitting side-by-side on the old picnic blanket. Arie took her hand, tugged it gently, urging her to speak.

A sob escaped her lips. “I,” She swallowed, “I was fired. The school board is appalled at my behavior. I will be teaching at the Home Ec. school.” She turned to him. “I won’t see you anymore.” She wailed and collapsed, sobbing in his arms.

Arie, though not known for his patience, waited without words for her tears to stop.

“You know there is a way, a wonderful way that you can see me as much as you like. Marry me, Nels. Please, marry me.”

“But, what …” He stopped her old argument with a kiss. Their first kiss.

“Tell me honestly, love. Which would be the more difficult to live with. Never having another kiss like this and much more, I promise or thinking that people are talking about you?”

They sat in the meadow, let the cows graze peacefully around them till early evening. Then he packed up their debris and held out his hand to her, helping her to her feet.

She did not let go of his hand. “You.” She said. “I chose you.”

Yes, their marriage caused a scandal. Trui did not speak to her sister for close to twenty years. Even though both Nels and Arie were invited to family gatherings, the two sisters would remain at opposite ends of the room. Their two nieces and one nephew, and us, the fourteen great nieces and nephews visited surreptitiously. It just wouldn’t do to upset Grandma Trui.

Nels and Arie were not blessed with children. Arie continued teaching and painting, Nels continued tutoring. They were close, when one left the room to make a pot of tea, the other appeared lost, as if a part was missing.

On that January morning, when great uncle Arie fell on the icy sidewalk it was a blessing that he and great aunt Nels had lived in the same second floor apartment for forty years. Many people in the neighborhood knew who he was and that his eighty-five-year-old wife was housebound.

Arie woke in the hospital bed after his leg had been set. As soon as he realized where he was, he tried to get out of bed. He had been away from Nels too long.

The nurse rushed into the room. “No, Mr. Broer. No. look.” She yanked the dividing curtain aside. Great aunt Nels had been admitted to the hospital and was comfortably resting in the other bed.